Night of the Living Dead by Alan Catlin

He was the kind of guy
who thought Poontang was
the capital of North Korea
and that Jesus’ Son was a
book about a close relative
of the son of God or a DVD
found at a church rummage
sale that could have been
sold as never watched, new.
Thought the Summer of rolling
blackouts was the end of the world.
Spent the best part of a night
during one of those, crouched
in a corner of his darkened
shotgun shack room with a loaded
weapon waiting for the mobs
of the undead to come. Sat
listening to water from melting
foodstuff in his freezer fill
the drip pan underneath his
dormant fridge unaware that
he was one pitchfork short
of a mob in the hid mind.
Thought the sun had supernovaed
in his face while he slept
but it was just the three way
bulb on high from a standing
lamp shining in his eyes.

acatlin multi

Alan Catlin is a widely published poet in the US of A and elsewhere. His most recent book is “Books of the Dead: a memoir with poetry” about the deaths of his parents. He is a retired professional barman and the editor of the online poetry zine

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